


Harassment's Not My Forte (But You Do It Very Well)

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, and Sam is hot for him, in which Lucifer is a sleazy UPS delivery man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't deny the fact that Nick scares him. He seems like the type of person to have a collection of the shrunken heads of nice boys on his delivery route who've let him into their houses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harassment's Not My Forte (But You Do It Very Well)

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: "Sam/Lucifer; Sam is the shy, somewhat submissive shut-in on Nick/Lucifer's UPS route. Sam meets him after he's delivered a birthday present from his brother and takes to ordering from Amazon more and more frequently just to get to see Luci more often. There's something a little dangerous in his eyes that just speaks to Sam..."

The first time Sam meets him—really meets him, doesn't just catch a glimpse of him as he drives away from a delivery—is the day after his twenty-second birthday. He's delivering a package from Dean, a delayed birthday present, and when Sam opens the door, he—well, he doesn't exactly go breathless, but it's definitely closer to the reaction of a fourteen-year-old girl than a twenty-two-year-old man.

"Sam Winchester?" he says, something undefinable playing around the corners of his mouth. Sam nods, and he thrusts a pen and packing slip at him. Sam stares at it for a moment, before he adds—with a hint of indulgence, not impatience—"Need your signature here."

"Right," Sam says, face heating up, taking the pen and scribbling something distinctly wobblier than his usual signature. Their hands brush briefly when he hand the pen and packing slip back, and Sam snatches his hand back quickly, trying not to notice the faint smirk tugging at the corners of the man's mouth.

He takes the package inside and shuts the door quickly. He's not sure what's just happened, and he's breathing too heavily, feeling more nervous than he should.

The encounter follows him for several days. It's not like he goes out much, and with nothing else to distract him, his mind keeps wandering back to rucked-up blonde hair, blue eyes, a too-sharp smile. When he goes grocery shopping, he feels eyes on him the entire time, and he jumps at every tall blonde man he sees.

It takes a week of this before he places the order. It's for a book that he doesn't particularly need, but that might be useful for the paper he's working on. He's glad he's still got a student discount on express shipping, even if he's just taking online classes, because this feels—urgent, somehow.

He spends the next two days pacing around his kitchen, feeling antsy and tense. He's beginning to regret ordering the package—for all he knows, the man won't even be the one delivering it, and he doesn't want to imagine what it'll feel like when he opens the door and it's someone else.

And then the doorbell rings, and when Sam opens it, it's him. He tries to tell himself that his breath doesn't catch in his chest.

"Hi, Sam," he says, and Sam tries not to think about the fact that the man knows his name. It doesn't really mean anything, he tells himself.

"Hi," Sam says, trying to look like a normal, healthy guy, who hasn't been essentially sitting in front of his door waiting for this package.

"Sign here," he says. Sam signs it and takes the package.

The entire exchange is less than five words long. But there's something about the way he looks at Sam, the way his gazes lingers over him, like he's starving and Sam is the last slice of cake left on the platter. It's the way his tongue curls around Sam's name. There's something troubling in it, something that makes him want to go hide his head under his covers, makes him feel like he's a moth circling too close to a flame.

He holds out for another three days before ordering another package. He doesn't even try to pretend that it's not about seeing the man again.

He's smiling when Sam opens the door. It's a pleasant smile, but with a dangerous edge to it, that says he knows things Sam doesn't.

"Hi there, Sam," he says. "How've you been doing?"

"Um," Sam says, feeling wrong-footed. "Fine, I guess."

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a pleased sort of way. "I'm glad to hear it. Sign here, please." Sam feels like a dog who's done some sort of trick, and half-expects to be patted on the head for his efforts. He's about to just take the package and head back inside as usual when the man speaks again. "It's Nick, by the way."

"What?" Sam asks, caught off-guard.

"My name. It's Nick." He runs a tongue over his lips, and Sam is struck by a sudden urge to push him against the door and kiss him.

"Right," he says. "Nick." It's an oddly—well, normal sort of name.

Nick nods. "Well then. Until next time, Sam."

\--

He wonders how Nick would fuck him.

He doesn't think he'd be gentle, wouldn't be nice about it. Maybe he'd shove Sam against the wall, fuck him right there in the entranceway. He wouldn't take the time for extensive prep, he'd make sure Sam would be feeling it for days afterward. It'd be hard and rough, quick and dirty.

Or maybe he'd guide Sam into the bedroom and tie him up, tease him until he was begging. And then when Sam couldn't take any more, he'd fuck him, and it would be too hard, too much, would probably hurt, but Nick wouldn't care, would keep fucking him until it was good. He wouldn't wear a condom, he'd come inside Sam, and it's probably pretty fucked up how much that turns him on.

He wants to kiss Nick, wants to find out what his mouth tastes like. He thinks Nick probably kisses rough, too, uses too much teeth, would leave his mouth bruised and swollen. And fuck, he wants it so bad. He's not supposed to want that, he's supposed to be Sam, quiet, shy Sam, he's not supposed to be entertaining fantasies of being fucked into next week by a strange delivery man.

\--

Sam's aware that the entire situation is ridiculous. That he might as well be living in a bad porno, the one where the delivery man makes a bad pun about his package and then they fuck on the kitchen table.

(He doesn't want Nick to fuck him on the kitchen table because it's old and he got it at Good Will and it would probably break. But the table in the living room is sturdy enough.)

\--

The age difference alone probably qualifies him as pretty fucked in the head. Nick is at least ten years older than him, probably in his late thirties, and Sam's only just turned twenty-two. There's something wrong with him if he's hot for this frankly shady-looking, much older guy.

He's never had a problem with this before, doesn't have a history of wanting to screw his teachers or anything. All the girls he's ever dated have been nice girls, same age as him, not into anything too kinky. He's a nice boy, he's dated nice girls. He's never wanted anything this— _dangerous_ before.

\--

He can't deny the fact that Nick _scares_ him. He seems like the type of person to have a collection of the shrunken heads of nice boys on his delivery route who've let him into their houses. He wonders if Nick prefers boys or girls, wonders if he likes them strong, or meek and submissive.

He dreams of Nick's hands, holding him down while he slices Sam open, whispering terrible words of comfort in his ear.

"This won't hurt a bit," Dream Nick murmurs. "I think you like this, don't you?" and Sam is helpless to disagree.

He wakes with his heart pounding, covered in sweat and impossibly hard. He jerks himself off in the shower, trying to calm his breathing, and he doesn't even try to pretend it's not Nick's hands he's imagining on him.

\--

He dreams that Nick is the devil, and he wraps his wings around Sam and tells him that he's damned, and that he's the only one who can save Sam.

Nick offers him a handful of pomegranate seeds, eyes gleaming with hungry triumph when Sam eats them out of his palm. And then he kisses Sam, tells him he's beautiful, licks away the juice running down his chin.

\--

"Hello, Sam," Nick says, and it's amazing how much threat he can put into those two words. He licks his lips, and Sam's eyes follow the motion. When he snaps his gaze back to meet Nick's, he's smiling in that same pleased way, like Sam is a pet who's done a familiar trick. "Got a package here for you," and Sam nods, because it's not like he hasn't been expecting this, but his heart is still thrumming nervously.

"Right," he says, and Nick offers him a pen and the packing slip as usual. As he's handing it back, Nick's fingers brush along his wrist, and he freezes. Nick hums curiously, fingers wrapping around his wrist and turning it over, thumb stroking over his pulse.

"Your heart's beating like a jackhammer, Sam," he says. "Do I make you nervous?"

"I—I don't—" Sam stammers, breathing quickening. He can't, he can't think like this, not with Nick's hand on him, stroking his wrist—

"I do," he says, sounding curious. "I scare you. You're afraid of me." He moves in closer, invading Sam's personal space. "What are you afraid I'm going to do to you?"

He can't speak, he can't speak, he can't even think—

Nick lifts a hand to his face, and he flinches, but all he does is tuck a stray bit of hair behind Sam's ear. "What do you _want_ me to do to you?"

Sam doesn't have an answer to that question, his breath coming shallowly, and then Nick lifts Sam's wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips to it, teeth grazing over his pulse, and he can't get enough _air_ —

And then Nick is dropping his wrist, curling his other hand around the back of Sam's head, tugging him down into a bruising kiss. It's a terrifying, heady rush, and he's gasping into Nick's mouth, pushing back for more. He's not thinking straight, barely thinking at all, and he knows he's going to regret this when he's come back to himself, but for now it's all he can do to submit to the crush of Nick's mouth against his.

"You want me," he says, sounding amused, and Sam feels a hot blush flooding his face. "And you're ashamed of it. Aren't you, Sammy?"

"Don't call me that," Sam says, trying to muster up some measure of defiance.

Nick laughs. "Are you trying to tell me what to do? How far do you think you're going to get with that, _Sammy_?"

He's completely relinquished control over the situation, he knows by now. The thought terrifies him at the same time it sends a little thrill through his stomach. Nick glances pointedly at the hand he has clutching the doorknob behind him. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

It's not like he can say no. Not really. He swallows and nods, letting the door swing open and taking a step back into the house, and Nick follows him, turning him around with a hand on the small of his back. "Bedroom," he says, and Sam nods again.

His house has never seemed so big as it does now, with Nick's hand on his back and his breath warm against his neck. His breath is quickening with every step, and this is a genuinely terrible idea, perhaps the worst idea he's ever had, but he just _wants_ so much—

And then they're in his bedroom, Nick turning him around to face him, pulling in to crush Sam's lips under his own, nipping at his lower lip, leaving his mouth bitten-red. He tugs Sam's shirt over his head, running his hands up his sides, smirking when Sam shudders lightly. "You're still afraid of me," he says. "You think I'm going to hurt you." He leans in, pressing his lips to Sam's neck, sucking at the skin of his throat, biting down. "Other people should be afraid. But not you. I don't think I'd hurt you. Not unless you wanted me to."

It's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to him. And yeah, he thinks, pretty fucked in the head.

Nick reaches for the button in his jeans, unsnapping it and pushing Sam's jeans down his thighs, stroking him gently through his underwear. Sam groans, pushing back into the touch, and Nick seems to like this. "So needy, aren't you? So pretty, so willing to give in to me." He pauses, seems to consider for a moment. "On the bed. I want you on your back." Sam nods, stepping out of his jeans and acquiescing.

Nick gazes at him for a moment, laid out on his back, running an appreciative gaze over him. It's a considering sort of look, and it makes Sam's heart flutter nervously. Like Nick's contemplating the dark and wicked things he could do to him. Sam watches him back as he drags his own shirt slowly over his head, cock twitching in anticipation.

"You have no idea what you look like right now," he says quietly, "so _wanton_. You're such a sweet little thing, so pretty and innocent. I'm going to ruin you, Sam, going to fuck you so hard the only thing you can remember is my name. I'm going to make you scream, Sam," and whether he means with pleasure or pain, Sam can't tell, and it's so fucked up how hard he is right now. Nick climbs up the bed, dragging his cock against Sam's, and there's only a few layers of cotton between them but it's too much, and he needs it, needs more—

Nick's drawing his boxers down his thighs, freeing his dick and stroking it softly. He whines and bucks up into the touch, and Nick laughs, drawing back and sliding his own boxers off. "Patience is a virtue," he says. "You have lube?"

"Side drawer," Sam gasps, pulling together some coherence. There's the _snick_ of a bottle being uncapped, cool fingers are parting his legs, and then a single, slick finger is teasing around his entrance, before pushing inside, and Jesus fucking _Christ_ —

Nick doesn't give him time to adjust before a second finger joins the first, and he's gasping and keening, and it's too much at once, stretching him open in a long, lingering burn, before the fingers press deeper, crooking inside of him. Nick chuckles as Sam swears, because God, it's so fucking good, and he's pressing back, needing more.

"You ever been fucked before, Sammy?" he asks, and it's a struggle to focus on his words with those fingers inside of him.

"No," he grits out, shaking his head, and Nick makes a pleased sort of noise, thrusting his fingers in deeper.

"I'm going to be the first," he says, smiling. "Letting a strange man deflower you, Sam, what would people think?"

Sam's cheeks burn. "I love making you blush," Nick tells him, "you're so beautiful with those delicate cheekbones of yours all pink." And then he's pulling out, and Sam groans at the loss. "You think you can take me like this?"

He groans his assent, and Nick doesn't give him a chance to adjust before he pushes in, doesn't ease Sam into it. "So wet for me," he's murmuring, "so submissive, going to let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?" 

Sam's shuddering and gasping, and it hurts, God, it fucking hurts, pain and pleasure mingling together until he's not sure which is which. "Please," he chokes out, not knowing what he's asking for. "Please, Nick, God, please—"

Nick makes a noise at that, deep in his throat. "You beg so pretty, Sam, anyone ever tell you that?" He's thrusting hard and deep, and Sam thinks he's going to die, he's just going to die like this, it's so good, and he's painfully hard. He's making little mewling noises, gasping and arching his back, Nick's grip tightening painfully on his hips, and he's definitely going to have bruises there in the morning.

"Fuck, please, please," he says, clutching at Nick's shoulders, "Nick, please, I'm gonna—fuck, Nick, I need, fuck, need to come, Nick, _please_ —" Nick is impossibly deep, fucking Sam into the mattress, murmuring a low stream of filth into his ear, making him blush, telling him how hot and tight he is, how he's going to make sure Sam feels this tomorrow. " _Nick_ —" he gasps, and that's it, he's coming, spilling hot and messy between them.

"God, Sam, you should see your face," Nick is saying, breathing heavily, "so pretty when you come." Sam's gone lax around him, and his grip is even harder, fucking him hard and fast, and it doesn't take much longer before he's coming too. It's too close to Sam's fantasies to have Nick coming inside him like this, and he has to look away.

"Fuck," Nick says, pulling out of him with a sigh, and Sam nods. He stands, pulling his clothes back on, before turning back to where Sam's still curled on the bed, watching him, and presses a kiss to his forehead. "I hate to run, but I have other deliveries to make." Sam nods, sighing softly when Nick strokes a hand through his hair. "Next time, I think I want to tie you up," he muses, smirking at the sharp intake of breath that gets from Sam. "I'll see you again soon, Sam."

Next time, Sam thinks sleepily. He can work with that.

**Author's Note:**

> i think it is becoming rapidly clear what my kinks are
> 
> also i would like to go on the record to state that i have literally no idea where this came from


End file.
